Читать книгу Love Islands…The Collection - Ким Лоренс, Jane Porter - Страница 29

IN THE TINY bedroom of her apartment, Addie stood staring despairingly at the half-empty holdall on her bed. She had woken early and, after nearly an hour of lying in the darkness, had finally got out of bed with the intention of being calm and collected by the time Malachi’s car arrived to pick her up. Yet somehow she wasn’t anywhere near ready and, pushing down the swell of panic rising inside her, she sat down on her bed with a thump.

It was all happening so fast—too fast. Three days ago she hadn’t seen or spoken to Malachi for five years. Now she was going away with him for a month. Alone. Today. This morning.

The thought was like a jolt of electricity passing through her body, and mechanically she began to fold her clothes and pack them in the bag.

After Malachi had driven off she’d felt exhausted—almost as though she’d just completed some arduous Herculean challenge. Lifting her hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the bruising heat of his kisses.

Frankly, Hercules had it easy! She’d take defeating monsters any day over trying to resist the charms of her husband who, in his own devastating way, could cause the same mayhem and misery as any three-headed dog. Unlike the three-headed dog, however, he didn’t serve some angry god. He was entirely self-serving and always, however reasonable he appeared, got exactly what he wanted.

Although, to be fair, she had wanted it too. Her cheeks grew warm. More than wanted it. It had been frantic, unstoppable, an almost primeval surge of need to feel his hands on her body again, his mouth on her mouth...

And he’d been the one to pull away, and it was only later that she’d realised how close she’d come to letting him make love to her in the back of his car.

It had been a shock to discover just how much she still wanted him. But a bigger shock was the realisation that instead of shame or regret she’d felt almost elated by what had happened. Elated and aroused. She bit her lip. Since splitting up with Malachi her job had more or less taken over her life. Sometimes she went to the gym, or met friends after work. But mostly she just ate her dinner on the sofa before falling into bed alone. There certainly hadn’t been any romance.

Only now she was going to spend a month on a private Caribbean island. With Malachi. A man whose touch had tormented and tamed her.

She breathed out slowly.

She was almost certainly going to regret this trip. But those few snatched moments of release in the limousine had at least proved to her what she’d known but denied for so long. That she wasn’t completely over Malachi; that in some intangible, incomprehensible way she still felt married to him.

She winced. Put like that, it sounded mad. But she wasn’t living under any delusions. This ‘honeymoon’ wasn’t some last-ditch attempt to save their relationship. Quite the reverse, in fact. It was a coda: a bittersweet and fitting finale to a marriage that had never been quite what it seemed—to her, at least. At least this time their relationship might actually be more straightforward, more honest, despite, or maybe because it involved a simple trade-off: sex for money.

This time her heart was definitely off limits. This deal would only involve her body—and only for a limited period. And, of course, a large amount of money.

She zipped the bag shut.

Did that make her shallow? Mercenary. Immoral.

No, it did not, she thought defiantly.

She’d never asked him for anything. Not a single cent. And she still hadn’t. This was for her charity. But seeing him again had made her realise that she couldn’t keep avoiding the past. Finally she was ready to bring an end to all the years spent wondering, hoping, aching. And that meant being with her husband one last time. She let out a long, slow breath. So why not make the most of it?

After all, there were a lot worse ways to spend a month than being on a private island with a sexy, handsome billionaire.

At the thought of Malachi’s island she felt a flicker of fear. How was she going to survive the two of them being alone on a deserted island?

By sticking to the rules. Kissing was almost unavoidable and, knowing Malachi, if he thought she was trying to avoid kissing him he’d simply see it as a challenge. But there would be no touchy-feely stuff—the sort of things couple did without thinking—because this was a business arrangement and there was no point in blurring the boundaries.

She also expected to be treated with respect. Okay, he had the money, but this arrangement was only going to work if she made it clear that while her body might have a price she, Addie, was beyond even his wealth. The remnants of her pride required that she demand that at least.

And if it all got too unbearable she could always catch a plane back to Miami. She wasn’t so destitute that she couldn’t afford an airfare home!

Beside her on the bed her phone vibrated and, picking it up, she glanced at the screen and felt her heart jolt. The car would be arriving in twenty minutes. Just enough time to dry her hair and find her passport and double-check that Carmen knew she was in charge of the office for the next four weeks.

Thirty minutes later, wearing a short navy wraparound skirt and an embroidered cream silk blouse, she was sitting in the back of the limousine, trying her hardest to look as though it was something she did every day of her life. Tucking her legs to one side, she glanced down at her high-heeled navy court shoes and frowned. She hardly ever wore heels outside of work, and they were not the most practical footwear for a beach holiday, but she wanted a reminder of why she was there: a private nudge to herself that this was not personal but business. And, anyway, she needed the extra height if she was going to square up to Malachi’s six-foot-two frame.

Feeling the car slow, she glanced out of the window and saw that they’d arrived at a large private airfield. And then her breath seemed to lodge in her throat as she saw the sleek white plane, emblazoned with the King Industries logo, gleaming on the runway. Beside it a line of stewards stood, waiting on the tarmac, all looking as though they’d just stepped out of the pages of Italian Vogue, and suddenly she felt like a rather unprepared understudy about to step on to a West End stage.

Who were they expecting? What had Malachi told them?

She would soon find out.

As the limousine swung smoothly to a stop and the door beside her opened she took a deep breath, swung her legs out of the car and stepped onto the tarmac.

Immediately the nearest steward walked swiftly towards her, smiling. ‘Good morning, Ms Farrell. My name is John. I’m the chief steward on this flight and I will be taking care of you today. Welcome to King Airlines.’

Inside the plane, Addie had to clench her jaw to stop it from falling open. She’d flown before. She’d even been upgraded to business class once. But this—

Trying not to gawp, she gazed slowly around.

It was not like the interior of any plane she’d ever travelled on. Rather than banks of seats with a central aisle, there was a large open-plan lounge area that spanned the width of the plane. Between huge leather sofas, vases filled with freesias stood on top of mirror-topped tables. There was also a bar!

Five minutes later she was sitting at one end of a sofa, sipping a perfect cappuccino from a fine bone china cup, when a door at the end of the cabin opened and Malachi sauntered towards her across the carpet.

‘Sorry, sweetheart. This trip of ours has thrown quite a few balls up into the air. I needed to meet with some people just to make sure somebody catches them while I’m away.’

Before she had a chance to reply, he dropped down onto the sofa beside her and in one seamless movement took the cup from her unprotesting hands, jerked her onto his lap and kissed her so deeply that she came up gasping for breath. He tasted of sunlight and oranges, and despite the chill of the air conditioning his skin was warm.

‘I missed you.’

His eyes were fixed on her lips and his face was so golden and perfect that for a moment she couldn’t even remember how to speak, let alone what to say. She looked up at him warily as he grinned down at her, the brightness of the day lighting up the shards of silver in his eyes.

‘This is where you’re supposed to say, I missed you too!’ he said softly.

She felt her insides tighten, every inch of her body responding to the pressure of his arm curling around her waist and the teasing note in his voice.

‘It’s only been two days.’ She arched an eyebrow, hoping that she appeared more composed than she felt. ‘You survived five years before that.’

‘How do you know I survived?’

Something flickered across his face, too fast for her to catch.

‘Maybe I was confined to bed. Weakened and distraught.’

‘Then somebody very like you was out and about in Miami,’ she retorted tartly. ‘Attending civic functions and charity dinners. You might want to look into that when you get back. Identity theft is a serious business!’

His eyes glittered. ‘I’m flattered you kept such a close eye on my whereabouts—’

‘I did not—’ she protested, but her voice frayed, the hot seam of words unravelling as his hand brushed against her blouse.

‘I like this,’ he murmured, fingering the silk. ‘It’s kind of demure yet sexy.’

As his gaze drifted slowly over her legs and down to her shoes, his eyes hardened in a way that made her stomach start to spasm.

‘And I like those too.’

His hand slipped beneath her blouse, cool fingers sliding over her hot skin so that she stirred against him, feeling the shift in his breathing. And then, abruptly, he groaned and, gently tipping her off his lap and back onto the sofa, edged away from her.

‘Damn it, Addie!’ He was grimacing as though in pain.

‘What is it?’ She stared up at him dizzily, her head still reeling from the havoc his fingers had wrought upon her, feeling the absence of his warm body almost like an amputation.

Shaking his head, he gave her a wry smile. ‘I’ve got a room full of people back there, waiting for me to sign off on a business plan, and you’ve got me so het up I’m not sure I can even spell my name—let alone write it.’

It took a couple of seconds for her to register what he was saying. That she would have to wait. Meeting his gaze, she saw the soft, taunting glimmer in his grey eyes and felt her temper start to flare. Was that how it was going to be? Him taking every opportunity to remind her that he was the one calling the shots.

Of course it was.

Right from the start Malachi had been the one dictating the terms of their arrangement. And, typical Malachi, he’d done it with a slow, teasing smile on that handsome face of his. And so of course, now she was here on his private jet, the ultimate symbol of his wealth and power, he would make her wait—presumably to demonstrate that no matter how equal the sexual attraction between them was, he was always in charge.

It was all she could do to stay sitting on the sofa. But she couldn’t keep threatening to walk out on him like some Hollywood diva who didn’t like her dressing room. The fact was she had agreed to this ludicrous charade, and she’d known right from the start that he was going to enjoy tormenting her. Her skin tightened as she remembered exactly how good he was at tormenting her. How he’d used to love to keep her hanging on so that she was frantic, wild, almost out of her mind with sexual need.

Dragging her mind back to the present, she gritted her teeth. The mature response—the only response—was not to dignify it with any response at all and so not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d got under her skin. But just because she’d agreed to come on this trip, it didn’t mean she was some sort of concubine. She just needed to find a way to remind Malachi of that fact.

For a moment they stared at one another in silence, and then finally she shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I can entertain myself,’ she said, reaching into her handbag. She pulled out a large paperback book. ‘I thought this might come in useful on this trip,’ she said sweetly.

His eyes locked on to hers.

‘Emotional Intelligence in the Adolescent Mind. Sounds gripping. But I thought you were here to mess with my body. Not my mind.’

The thought of what form that messing might take made Addie’s tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, but despite her hot cheeks she lifted her chin to stare at him. ‘It’s actually very interesting and informative,’ she said loftily.

‘I’m sure it is.’ His eyes mocked her and, blowing her a kiss, he turned and sauntered out of the cabin.

He was back in less than half an hour. As he strode across the carpet every inch of him was humming with energy, like a racing car on the starting grid.

‘All done!’ His voice was hard with triumph. Collapsing onto the cushions beside her, he leaned over and picked up a handful of strawberries, tearing into them with white, even teeth. ‘And now you have my full and undivided attention.’ He plucked the book from her hand and dropped it casually onto the nearest table. ‘Now, where were we?’ His gaze slid down over her face, down lower to the pulse beating at the base of her throat. ‘Oh, yes... Why don’t you come over here and sit back on my lap?’

She stared at him in silence, too angry to reply in case she lost her temper. Did he think he could just swan back in and click his fingers and she’d come running? That she’d drop whatever she was doing or have it dropped by him.

She glanced across at the book. Take control! she told herself. Show him that he can’t walk all over you. He might have the plane and the limo and the money—especially the money. But he can’t have you, not unless he works for it!

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said slowly. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt over her thighs, watching his eyes drift down to the hem and then back up to meet her face.

‘Why don’t we get out of here? Go somewhere a little more private?’ His gaze was suddenly so focused, so intense, it made her stomach curl into a knot. But, ignoring the pulse leaping in her throat, she smiled at him coolly. ‘Shall I just pick a door? Or do you want to show me the way?’

Staring straight ahead, she kept her eyes glued to his broad back as Malachi led her up a floating spiral staircase to what must be the private quarters of the plane. She held her breath. He wasn’t even touching her but already her skin was quivering, the blood slowing and thickening in her veins. She wanted him so badly—but more than that she wanted him to want her as much, even more than she craved him. To be in thrall to her. She wanted to have power over him, to get past that mask and beneath that beautiful, lazy smile and see that formidable self-control slip away.

Her muscles gave an involuntary twitch. They had reached the top of the staircase. There was a moment of tense, pulsing silence and then, pushing open a door, he stepped aside. After a fraction of a second she walked past him. It was another, slightly smaller lounge. There were a couple of gilt-framed mirrors on the walls and on top of several narrow, pale wood tables piles of paperback books vied with one another for space. Looking up, she found Malachi watching her, his eyes more black now than grey, and she felt her body respond to their darkening.

‘So,’ he said softly. ‘Here we are. “Somewhere more private”.’

His words snagged on her skin and, pulse jerking, she nodded, trying to stay calm. ‘It feels different. Less—’

‘Flashy?’ For a moment he looked younger, more earnest.

‘I was going to say formal,’ she said carefully.

He laughed. ‘How worryingly diplomatic of you.’ He stared past her. ‘Downstairs is just an extension of my office. It has to present a certain version of me. Up here is mine.’

Some of his tension had slipped away and she stared around, liking the comfort and the easy elegance. ‘What’s through there?’ She gestured to a door at the other end of the room.

‘It’s a gym and a steam room.’

‘What about up there?’ She pointed to more curving steps that seemed to hang magically in the air. There was a moment of pulsing silence. He turned and his gaze slipped over her skin like warm silk. Suddenly she could feel her blood racing through her body like wild mustangs.

‘Come and see.’ He held out his hand.

She stared at it for a moment, letting his words hang in the air, needing a moment to clear her head of the pulsing beat of her heart.

Do it, she urged herself again. Do it on your terms. Take control.

Taking his hand, she slipped past him, turning at the bottom of the staircase. ‘I think I can find my way from here.’

She walked up the stairs slowly, his hand clasped in hers. At the top she stopped and stared—at a bed.

But only for a moment.

Then she turned and reached for him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grabbing, tugging, pulling at buttons and hair and flesh. She’d caught him off guard, could feel he shook. But the next moment his mouth was on hers, fierce, bruising, heavy. Desperately she kissed him back, locking her arms around his neck, frantic with the freedom of being able to touch him, to kiss him, to run her fingers through his hair.

Catching the scent of his skin, she moaned softly, and her breath quickened as she felt his body move urgently against hers. She heard him groan and felt a rush of euphoria, and then suddenly his hands were on her waist, pushing her back and across the floor, his legs nudging and pressing between hers. She half slid, half fell onto the bed, pulling him with her, her mouth opening beneath the hard pressure of his lips.

His hands were at her waist, her thighs, her ribs—sliding all over her body, peeling away her shirt and her defences. Her breath felt hot in her throat, the tormenting touch of his mouth making her head swim and, moaning, she reached lower, pressing her hand against the smooth muscles of his stomach until she felt his body shudder.

‘Malachi!’ She whispered his name unsteadily and breathing in hard, she stilled as he raised himself up and stared down into her face, his grey eyes gleaming like polished steel.

‘What’s the matter?’ he murmured. ‘Have you lost your way?’

Addie shuddered. His fingertips, light and languid, were sliding over the smooth mound of her belly, stroking, circling, caressing lower, and lower still, so that a tingling, torturous thread of pleasure wove in and out of her breathing.

Suddenly he lifted his hand and she couldn’t stop herself from whimpering. His gaze fixed on her face, his expression so hard and hungry and knowing that she squirmed against the sheets. There was no way to hide how much she wanted him to keep on touching her, how much she needed to feel him on top and inside her.

‘Malachi...’ She swallowed, fighting to control the need, the urgency in her voice, trying to hang on to the liquid heat building inside her, her muscles clenching and tightening.

‘Addie—’

He let the word hang between them as she looked up at him pleadingly and then, lowering his head, he licked her shoulder, his tongue hot and measured as it snaked over her collarbone, teasing the hollow at the base of her throat until her body started to shake.

His fingers spread across the bare skin of her back, expertly undoing her bra and freeing her swollen, aching breasts. Almost choking on her own breath, she twisted upwards, rubbing against his hips, goading him with her body, wanting him to answer the ache clamouring inside her. But, pushing aside the flimsy fabric, he dropped his head and grazed her breast with his mouth, licking and nipping, his tongue curling around first one nipple then the other.

Finally she could bear it no more and she pushed his head away, at the same time desperately reaching beneath the waistband of his trousers to curl her hand round the hard, straining length of his erection.

He jerked against her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Grasping her head, he began to kiss her again, each time deeper and deeper, until she thought she would melt with need. A slippery heat was trickling down inside her and helplessly she rolled beneath him, wanting to rid herself of that relentless, dragging ache, wanting, needing to feel him inside, to finish what she’d started.

She tugged at his belt urgently, her fingers tearing at the buckle, scraping his skin.

‘Wait—wait, sweetheart. We mustn’t—’

His hand caught her scrabbling fingers, holding them still, and she stared up at him dazedly.

‘Wh-what?’ Fighting to get her words out, she frowned. A haze of unfocused thoughts and fears were swirling inside her head. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was hoarse. She could hear her hunger for him, the scraped, raw longing. But she didn’t care. She just wanted him—all of him. The heat and the power, the unthinkable, impossible bliss of his body stretching into hers.

He shook his head. ‘Not here. Not now.’

She looked up at him, shifting restlessly, her whole body twitching with unfulfilled desire so that she had to bite her tongue in order not to beg him to make love to her.

His hand was curving under the back of her head so that his calm, assessing grey gaze held her captive. For a moment he studied her face and then, raising his hips, he let go of her hand and lifting himself off her body, he slid onto the bed beside her.

The cool air stung her skin.

But not as much as the cool, calculating expression on Malachi’s face.

How could he look at her like that? She stared at him uneasily. And how had he found the willpower to stop? The thought that, unlike her, he had been cool-headed enough to break their frantic, febrile embrace was like a punch to the stomach. Cheeks burning, she breathed in sharply and pushed against his shoulder.

He made no objection as she shifted along the bed, tugging at her bra and blouse and pushing her skirt down over her naked thighs, shock at her own behaviour mingling with the humiliating realisation that, rather than taking charge, she had let her self-control go into a complete and very obvious meltdown. It had not been him begging her to ease the frantic demands of his body. Instead she had been the one whose whole being had been focused on satisfying her burning desire for him.

A discreet but insistent buzzing noise broke the silence between them and, rolling over, Malachi punched a button on a panel set into the wall above the bed.

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry, Mr King. Just to let you know we are approaching Antigua now, so if you wouldn’t mind buckling up?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Hanging up, Malachi turned and met her gaze. ‘We’d better go and take our seats.’

Smoothing his fingers through his hair, he tucked in his shirt and as though by magic was transformed back into a sleek, efficient business tycoon.

His eyes drifted over her dishevelled state. ‘You might want to tidy up a little...’

Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Addie mechanically ran a comb through her hair. Her hand was shaking too much to put on any lipstick or eye make-up, so instead she tried to force her face into the same cool mask of detachment that Malachi could apparently achieve so effortlessly.

How did he do it? she thought helplessly. Even now, with her clothes straightened and buttoned up, and a door between them, her body was still a shuddering mass of sexual yearning, her brain barely functioning.

She moaned softly. She had so wanted to prove to him, to herself, that no matter how disparate their wealth and status they would come together as sexual equals on this trip. But the harsh reality was that she had simply managed to reveal how badly she still wanted him. She’d responded to him mindlessly, her hunger so intense, so desperate that she’d been ready and willing to surrender herself to his every whim—

She shivered. The trouble was that she couldn’t do what he did. She couldn’t blank off her mind from the passion, the hunger. How could she? Until her car accident her whole life had been about living emotions through music. Playing the piano demanded passion as much as discipline, poetry as much as practice.

Her mouth twisted. Sex with Malachi was evidently not going to be as straightforward as she’d thought. Not because she loved him. But because she appeared unable to switch off the mess of emotion that sex with Malachi provoked.

Her heart began to pound. But so what if she couldn’t contain or control her feelings? Did she really want to become like Malachi? All warmth and charm on the outside, but utterly immune to real feelings.

No, she did not.

Her marriage to Malachi had already cost her five years of her life, her hopes, most of her pride and around six kilograms of weight. She wasn’t about to sacrifice the essence of who she was to it too.

And she would survive this trip.

After all, she’d survived far worse.

Lifting her chin, she pulled out a lipstick and swiped it over her lips. She might come out of this affair emotionally battered and bruised, but she would come out of it as herself.

Turning, she pushed open the bathroom door and walked determinedly back into the cabin.

‘Ready?’ His voice was distracted, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone.

She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up, watching his eyes narrow appreciatively as they switched from his phone to her glossy lips and long bare legs.

She met his gaze. ‘I’ve never been readier,’ she said slowly.